Mixed Races and Radio Switchoff


Today was the Junior Primary Sports Day at which we were in attendance from the first of the races. Things were run with normal efficiency, and it was entertaining for kids and parents alike, if a bit stressful for the teachers to keep everything together.

Running is not Jeneva’s top sporting thing, but she nevertheless acquitted herself well in the three races she competed in.  We enjoyed watching her put heart and soul into it in spite of having a rather painful bruised leg from a recent fall.

Her house had a convincing victory. *smug smirk*

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From school, it was straight off to the last of my ten doses of radiotherapy. Now I will be allowed to come off the boil. This time, I seem to have escaped with little fried skin, so it shouldn’t take long. Only now was I informed that feelings of lassitude (if not laddietude) and a desire to peck at small quantities of food rather than large meals, and some dithery-headedness, are all normal. I wish they’d told me before.

Now knowing it has been expected of me, I had a sleep on getting home!

© August 2019 Colonialist
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Posted in Africa, Cancer Treatments, Grandchildren, Humour, Personal Journal | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

No Rhyme; No Reason; 80th; Grand Parents’ Season.


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Dear friends, I really think
that it has reached high time
I stopped subjecting all of you
to Really Awful Rhyme,
But so my latest doings, now,
that everyone still knows,
I will present them in the form
of Truly Ghastly Prose!

Today it was a matter of getting up early for Grandparents’ Day at Junior Primary. Not early enough, unfortunately. By the time we got there, only ten minutes late, J and her class, as well as the rest, had already delivered their rhymes. Oh well, we then repaired to one of the fields for a picnic. We had taken our fold-up table and seats in preparation, so sat in state while ordinary mortals were subjected to a state of grovelling on the grass.
Having fully fed our faces, it was off to KZNSA for an 80th birthday party for the Past President of Durban and Coast Horticultural Society of many years. More eats and drinks were guzzled.
I left solo from this entertainment to go for the next medical appointment, but was on my way when I realised that I had failed to consult my diary in the morning as to what was next, so didn’t have a clue. I had an idea it was at Parklands Hospital again, so went in that direction, but took an unfamiliar route and got lost. By the time I found myself again I was in a tizzy.
I came to the conclusion that it had to be for a drip at the Oncologist, but they said no, that was next week. At that, my brain switched off. They helpfully phoned all the doctors I could think of to no avail, so I tried to phone Much Better Half and her sister, to whose home she and J had now gone. Answering service every time.
Finally, she did ring back and reminded me that what I had set off to attend was the eighth of my ten daily radio treatments. How on earth had that gone from my mind? Apparently some woolly-headedness (without beanie) is typical of the treatments. I do hope that’s all it is, and that I am not going ga-ga.
Not much time remained for me at home before I had to take J to her swimming lesson again. Before it, she put in some really good keyboard practice. One piece truly nailed from memory.
I must have recovered my faculties, because I was able to correct MBH on dodgy maths advice given to R just before I left.
J swam extremely well.
The latest two generations of ferals are bonding, as may be seen. Isn’t that cute?

© August 2019 Colonialist
Posted in Africa, Grandchildren, Humorous rhyme, Personal Journal, Really Awful Rhyme | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments

No Dis-Appointment; More Raidy-Ho; Queen Dethroned.


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Today another ‘-ologist’ was added to the score,
This one an ‘uncle-ogist’* (raid he ate shin) you see,
My count on tests is, yet again, result not to deplore —
He said that I am doing well to quite a good degree!
With radio’d-at being, I then added a dose more,
Then yet another visit to that handy pharmacy,
And then collecting Better Half from ancestor research
To take her home, her sister at it leaving in the lurch,
And on return, imbued now with a burst of energy,
I took out some Queen of the Night**, invasive locally.

*Oncologist
**Selenicereus grandiflorus
© August 2019 Colonialist
Posted in Africa, Gardens, Personal Journal, Really Awful Rhyme | Tagged , , , | 11 Comments

Oh water day, in a medical way . . .


At eight o’clock to vampires, four phials of blood to draw,
At ten to the urologist, so he could give the score,
Twelve forty, radio therapy then me receiving saw,
From there to pharmacy with script: a wait inside the door;
Then was the turn of water-watching, squad for both for sure,
And lastly, swimming school for J, her technique to make pure;
In chilly weather quite some hardships for me to endure
But bolstered up by knowledge that what does not kill, should cure;
This is an indication of what this whole week will bring,
So at the end of it no-one posts will be following!

© August 2019 Colonialist
Posted in Humorous rhyme, Personal Journal, Really Awful Rhyme, Swimming, Swimming Squad Training | Tagged , , | 26 Comments

Really Awful Crime Scene


 

Shot victim under sheets;
Man held to wait the news
How found in state that greets;

Watch count of long abuse;
In cell the suspect fling —
No deal with him can bring.

© August 2019 Colonialist
Posted in Africa, Really Awful Rhyme, Wordle | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Cats: Successful Fundraiser and Truce Stranger Than Fiction


We spent the morning at the local flea market where, true to weather report, it blew a gale for half the morning and for the other half took a deep breath and really started to blow. No attempt was made to erect the gazebo I had set ready on the evening before. Our display was severely compromised by components thereof having a tendency to fly into the middle of next week unless held down physically. Finally, I managed some sort of weighting-down, but then one couldn’t see stocks half as well as before.
R, and her friend T in particular, did a wonderful job of salesgirlship, greeting everyone who passed and telling them about the school cat and the need to raise funds for its welfare and that of feral cats generally. Also, of extolling the virtues of the chocolate brownies, rice cakes and iced blobs they had prepared (sadly, the fudge hadn’t set) and of marketing their lucky packets, and the keyrings, bags and mugs they had received for sale from Cats of Durban.
Finally, the wind proved too much for us and we rested our case. Including some early Christmas shopping by indulgent parents, grandparent and friends the total raised was over R3 000-00!
Having got up extra early to prepare, after a night from hades with a dog that refused to settle down and after being consigned to the bathroom dug a large hole in the door to the sound of yelping, scratching and banging, all we wanted to do was sleep. The thing is, if we let him out he would simply have gone and disturbed the other part of the family in the main house.

Anyway, in the bedroom was some bad and great news. The bed was fully occupied. The occupants were M and Amber who have been feuding since kittenhood.
At last they have put their pawprints on a truce, and Amber seemed delighted to find that I no longer chase her away from the cottage on sight.


Right, we will now clamber onto couches, or wherever can allow a bit of shuteye without disturbing the new companions.

© August 2019 Coloniali
Posted in Africa, Cats, Grandchildren, Personal Journal | Tagged , , , , | 21 Comments

Invective Lecture


Image result for swearing man cartoon

You may have seen that on my blog
‘Bitch’ simply means a female dog;
While ‘dam’ and ‘blast’ is water stored,
And with explosion outward poured:
‘Helen dim-nation’
is a she
From stupid nationality;
When seeking words to rhyme with ‘muck’,
From certain choices, there, I duck;
Though if I’m really in a spate
I might well yell out, ‘Fornicate!’
While, ‘Gory pub-attendant,’ hiss —
Don’t use the simpler form of this! —
‘Gory bar steward,’ also use
The other version I will lose;
But ‘Gore Dumb Bit’ can come in, too,
As a ‘gore’ variant that’s new,
And ‘You are souls’, as insults go:
Not bad for those who’re in the know;
But, then again, I jib a bit
To use a word that may well fit,
But does so at far greater cost
Than my preferred one, which is ‘Thost!’ —
Old English, and displays more wit
When with a hammer, thumb you hit;
Why did I now, with this display
Elect to launch out here today?
‘Twas simply, on first blog I saw,
Observed a word that I abhor!

© August 2019 Colonialist
Posted in Africa, Humorous rhyme, Humour, Language, Personal Journal, Really Awful Rhyme | Tagged , , , | 11 Comments